


He's doing it again...

by thegirlnamedcove



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Awkward Sexual Situations, Awkwardness, Characters Reading Fanfiction, Dirty Talk, Getting Together, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mild Comeplay, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, feelings in the middle of porn, reading porn in public, references to facesitting, references to snowballing, seriously they talk so much during sex, talk of future rough sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2019-01-28 03:29:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12597184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegirlnamedcove/pseuds/thegirlnamedcove
Summary: Derek gets it, he really does. It’s hard for humans to transition to being around wolves. There will always be something they forget, whether it’s the enhanced hearing or the enhanced strength or, in this case, the enhanced sense of smell.But goddamn it, that still doesn’t make it okay to read porn in public.





	He's doing it again...

He’s doing it again. Sitting in an armchair to himself, in the middle of pack night, totally lost in his phone.

Derek gets it, he really does. It’s hard for humans to transition to being around wolves. There will always be something they forget, whether it’s the enhanced hearing or the enhanced strength or, in this case, the enhanced sense of smell. They’re so used to being an island, to only interacting with people through speech or visual body language, that they forget to guard their more subtle reactions. Stiles is probably blissfully unaware of the chemosignals he’s giving off as he reads.

But goddamn it, that still doesn’t make it okay to read porn in public.

Derek had done a loop of the room, ostensibly to refill sodas and pick up empty plates, and he’d snuck a glance at Stiles’ phone. No videos, or racy photos stolen from a distant friends’ facebook account. Just plain black words on a white background, endlessly scrolling as he got more and more turned on.

The other wolves either don’t notice or don’t know what to make of the smell if they do. Chemosignals are so hard to teach, it’s half instinct anyway, like those parts of language no one ever had to explain to you. He’s sort of thankful, if he’s honest, he doesn’t want Stiles to end up humiliated. And he doesn’t want anyone else knowing what Stiles smells like when he’s hard.

God, he must be so hard by now. Derek had ended up shoved to the end of the couch by his squabbling betas, right next to the armchair, and the smell is so strong already, only halfway through the movie. He wants to bury his face in it, or failing that he wants to pull his shirt up to cover his nose and his mouth and block it out. This is awful.

Kung Fu Panda plays on the huge tv the pack had insisted on, possibly the least sexy film in existence, and he  _ tries _ to follow the plot. It’s isn’t helping. If anything, he feels like if he pushes this too hard he’s going to get some weird wires crossed in his mind.

“Red pandas are not sexy,” he murmurs under his breath, mostly to reassure himself, and beside him Erica’s eyebrows shoot up. He flushes but shrugs, “Sorry, old joke. Hard to explain.”

She snorts and lets it go, eyes flickering back to the screen and he sighs. His lungs fill with the smell of precum and sweat, arousal and nerves, and he glances towards Stiles. He hasn’t shifted his gaze even a fraction, and his grip on his phone has gotten tenser, his knuckles white where they curl around the edges. He shifts, tilting his hips forward and then back like he can’t fit into his jeans quite right anymore and Derek barely contains a whimper.

What the fuck is he reading?

He doesn’t get a chance to find out, not until Po’s final fight ends in a golden shockwave washing over the village and the movie cuts to credits. Boyd goes to pop the DVD from the player, and Scott starts bubbling over with praise, listing his favorite animal characters in order. Stiles looks up, finally, and agrees that Tigress is the best, setting his phone face down on the side table.

“Honestly though, what was with the casting?” he asks, “They have the most famous people in every role, and some of them are just  _ wasted _ . Freaking Jackie Chan plays Monkey and he has like, what, six lines in the whole thing?”

He braces himself against the arms of the chair and levers up to follow Scott into the kitchen. Erica follows, although she seems totally disdainful of the whole subject, and then Boyd and Isaac behind her, talking loudly about putting the second pizza in the oven.

He has a minute, maybe two, before someone pops back out and Derek fucking takes it. Snatches the phone up, shoves it in his pocket, and speedwalks to the closest bathroom to lock himself inside. Once he’s behind the relative safety of a single handle lock he sits on the toilet seat and thumbs the phone open.

Stiles left the story open, not even closing out to the home screen or anything, and Derek’s eyes flit to the second paragraph down.

_ “What a good little bitch,” Draco purrs, raking his nails down Harry’s spine. He’s splayed out under him, dark skin standing out on the pale blue sheets, panting wetly into his arm in an attempt to be quiet. _

Derek hits the button on the side to turn the screen black and stares at his reflection in the mirror. He’s blushing, violently, and really doesn’t know what to do from here. He knew what Stiles was reading in broad senses, he’s not sure why he felt like he needed confirmation, and now he has to head back out and find a way to be stealthy. Stiles is bound to realize his phone is missing. The sooner he goes, the easier it will be to convince him he just knocked it onto the floor or something. But the thing is, he kind of wants to keep reading.

_ Harry tilts his hips up and back, planting shaking knees on the mattress, and presents as best he can for Draco. His head is swimming with lust and firewhiskey, and he manages barely more than a whine in his throat before he feels the hot line of Draco’s chest press against his back, and a cock slides between his thighs. _

_ The world narrows down to that feeling. Draco gets a hand on either flank and presses them together, applying pressure where Harry can’t, not now, and starts to thrust slowly. The head of his cock drags against Harry’s balls and he shudders. _

Derek shudders too, and closes his eyes against the words in front of him. Maybe if he was still  in college, full of bravado and mild homophobia, this wouldn’t be affecting him like this. But now, at this point in his life...he knows exactly what that feels like. Knows the sensation of a hard steel rod pumping between soft plush thighs, knows the subtle shock of having your balls pressed up and in by the intrusion. He’d come once, just from that, with his last boyfriend in New York, and Troy had boasted about it for days afterwards. He pries his eyes open and fixes them to the next paragraph.

_ He increases his pace, smoothing a hand up Harry’s ass, and then pulls back and brings it down hard. Harry cries out, his breath shaky and voice cracking, and then pushes his ass back and up into the pleasure and pain of it. _

Outside the bathroom door, he hears a holler and then the all-too-familiar Harry Potter soundtrack. For the love of  _ fuck _ . He presses a hand against his groin, the denim trapping him against his thigh, and then stows the phone in his pocket after scrolling back up to the where he’d found it. He can’t stay here and indulge, there isn’t time and he isn’t controlled enough to orgasm in a way other wolves couldn’t detect. He needs to cut this shit off at the knees, so he stands and wipes his sweaty palms against his shirt as he goes.

When he steps back into the living room, Stiles is searching the floor.

“The ‘no phones’ rule was your idea, you dickwad, I don’t know why you have such a hard time following it,” Erica says, sprawled across Boyd’s lap.

“You know what,” Stiles grabs an empty soda can and tosses it at her head, “maybe I had something important on there. Maybe I had a job offer on there, and it was time sensitive, and now I’ll have no job come summer vacation and no money and you’ll have to buy all the pizza for the next four months!”

She snorts and throws it back, shaking with laughter.

“Or maybe you’re stalking people on facebook again.”

“That was one time!” his voice jumps up an octave and cracks, and Derek slides past, brushing against Stiles’ ass where he’s half bent to look below the edge of the couch. Once he’s settled in his cushion he palms the phone and drops his hand off the edge of the couch, then lifts it again like he just found it.

“Is this one yours?”

Stiles face lights up and he snatches it out of Derek’s hand.

“Yes! Thank you dude, I saved for ages to get this model. I would’ve been so pissed to lose it.”

“If you idiots are still talking by the time the Hogwarts Express is on screen, the police will never find your bodies,” Isaac pipes up, and that’s the end of it.

Except then Stiles starts right back up again, and Derek wonders if he’s getting off more because he can hear Draco Malfoy’s snotty voice in the background, a sort of soundtrack to his porn. On screen he’s stomping on Harry’s face, but the cold tones of his voice could lend themselves to a lot of situations, Derek knows that from experience too.

Whatever the reason, the smell is rising again, stronger than before, and now the tops of Stiles cheeks are stained with a blush. He sinks one of his hands down to his lap and lightly grips his own thigh, like a promise of what he’s going to do to himself later. It’s still within acceptable parameters, a few inches below the bulge Derek know recognizes as his dick, but it’s teasing the way he digs his fingers into the flesh there, pressing his fingers in like he has claws.

Fifteen more minutes into the movie, and Stiles whimpers under his breath, and his hips hitch upward just a fraction, and Derek is done. He launches out of his seat and into the kitchen without giving an excuse, just happy to be away from the surreal fucking circus that is his life. He yanks open the window over the sink and shoves his face up against it, gulping in lungfuls of clear air.

“Hey, big guy, you okay?”

And the circus is back. He straightens up and glances over at Stiles, who’s standing in the doorway looking flushed and mussed and worried. He tries to come up with any image that might help him calm down, but his mind is empty.

“It’s fine,” he says, and man that came out breathy, “I’m fine.”

“Dude, you sound like you’re about to pass out,” Stiles shakes his head and strides forward, catching Derek’s elbows and steering him back out of the kitchen towards the staircase, “Come on, let’s get you to bed and see if that helps.”

As they pass by the couch, Boyd hooks an arm over the side and his brow knits in concern.

“Everything okay?”

“I’m fine, guys,” he tries to get his arms out of Stiles’ grip, but he also doesn’t want to hurt him, so all he ends up accomplishing is a little wiggle and then they’re at the stairs and climbing, “Seriously, I’m just dead tired and got a little dizzy. I can go upstairs by myself.”

“I bet you can. And I can make sure you get there,” Stiles hums.

“We’ll get out of your hair then. Derek,” Boyd calls, and when he looks over his shoulder his second is meeting his gaze head on, serious and authoritative, “you call if you need anything, you know the drill.”

He turns back to the others and starts directing clean up and god, Derek loves Boyd.

Once they’re in the bedroom Stiles kicks the door closed behind him and finally, finally releases Derek’s arms. He flits out from behind him, shuffling blankets around and straightening pillows, even going so far as to pull out a pair of pajama pants from Derek’s dresser. When he turns back around he can’t quite reach Derek’s gaze, but he passes the pants over and Derek huffs and wanders to the en suite to get change. Maybe, if he goes along with this nonsense, he can finally be alone long enough to jerk off properly.

He shuts the door and slides out of his jeans, letting out a moan at the feeling. He likes wearing them this tight, likes how they make his legs look longer and how he doesn’t have to worry about loose fabric snagging on anything, but he has to admit it feels great at the end of the day when he peels the denim away and his skin can breathe again. The cotton sleep pants are heaven in comparison, and he shucks off his shirt and pops his toothbrush in his mouth before wandering back out towards his bed.

Where Stiles is sitting, looking distinctly awkward.

“Hey! Um. Shirtless, okay, well I thought I’d stick around in case you fainted or, like...I don’t know, burst into flame maybe?” he’s babbling, eyes fixed on the carpet and fingers fidgeting where he’s holding his knees in a facsimile of calm, “Point is, Melissa would kill me if she knew I left someone who was feeling woozy alone. So. Yeah.”

Derek groans in his throat and pulls the toothbrush out, opting to just swallow the toothpaste rather than talk around it. He tosses the brush on his dresser and steps around Stiles to sink onto the bed.

“Well,” he says, careful to keep his tone even, “I’m in bed now. Safe and immobile. So you can leave.”

“Right,” Stiles ducks his head, “right. It’s just...werewolves can’t get sick, and I know you said you’re tired but that doesn’t feel right for how you’re acting, and I can’t just...not following up on things like this is dangerous in our lives.”

Derek winces and props himself up on his elbows, feeling like an ass suddenly.

“Do you know what’s wrong? Could you tell me?”

“I sincerely don’t want to.”

Stiles frowns and a look of hurt crosses his face before he shoves at Derek’s shoulders and sends him sprawling back onto his back, “Not good enough, Hale.”

“I...it’s embarassing.”

Stiles clambers onto the bed and then he’s trapping him underneath him, knees caging in his hips and groin held just a few inches too high to make contact and Derek feels like he’s going to hyperventilate. Stiles places his hands on his hips, probably trying to look stern, and narrows his eyes at Derek.

“Not. Good. Enough.”

“I...fucking...ugh,” he sighs, and all the wind goes out of his sails. He’s usually a better liar than this, but he’s not operating with a lot of blood in his head right now and he can’t come up with anything but the truth, “Fine. You smell like you’ve been looking at porn, and I opened your phone and found porn.”

It’s amazing how quickly Stiles can blush, the sweep of red across his skin almost stark enough for Derek to track with his eyes, and then he’s cringing away, moving off of Derek’s hips, and that’s not what Derek wants at all.

“Fuck, I’m sorry. Fucking werewolves. I should’ve--” he shifts to pull his leg back over Derek’s hips and falls onto his butt. He bounces a little against the mattress, and when Derek grabs onto his knee to stabilize him his gaze snaps to Derek’s hand and then trails up his arm. Derek can practically feel when his panic starts to simmer down into confusion, “Wait a minute. Why did that make you woozy?”

Derek feels himself blush, probably matching Stiles in color now, and he looks away towards the door.

“It was, um--” he clears his throat, “It was really good porn.”

When he risks a glance back at Stiles his eyes are like moons, huge and round, and his usually hyperactive body has fallen eerily still.

After a moment he seems to brace himself and asks, “Which part did you like?”

“I...what?”

“Because it’s a long story, sort of rises and falls in intensity,” he reaches up and scratches at his cheek, letting his eyes skitter all over the room as he spoke, “and I just want to know which part you thought was...good.”

Derek realizes he’s holding his breath, but he isn’t sure anymore how to get it started again.

“Uh...the, uh...intercrural.”

Stiles smirks, “Multisyllabic. You can’t have enjoyed it that much.”

Derek groans and pulls a pillow up and over his face.

“If you’re just going to make fun of me, you can leave now.”

He can hear stiles laugh, and then the slick sound of his weight shifting against the silk sheets, and then the weight is back on his hips, pressed down this time so he can feel the sharp bones of Stiles’ hips against his.

He peeks an eye out from under the pillow, and sees Stiles smiling at him, expression soft.

“Which position did you imagine yourself in? When you were reading. Were you Draco, doing the fucking?” he shifts forward, sliding across Derek’s lap and then back, and the roll of his hips is fluid but strong, “Or were you--”

“I was Harry,” Derek interrupts, and then cringes a little at himself, “I don’t...I mean, that scene wasn’t...penetrative. But if you’re asking, for the most part I don’t top. Or dom, or whatever you want to call it.”

Stiles raises an eyebrow at him and his gaze shifts to something hungrier, glassier.

“Yeah?” he asks, and his voice isn’t much more than a whisper.

Derek nods, and then Stiles tips himself forward and catches himself on his hands, dipping down for a kiss. Derek feel surrounded, hands and knees caging him in, and he lets his hands settle against Stiles’ ribs and goes slack, letting him take whatever he wants.

They part when they run out of breath and Stiles buries a groan in Derek’s shoulder.

“Dude,” his voice is muffled, “why didn’t you say this was something you were up for years ago?”

Derek shrugs, his shoulder jostling Stiles’ head.

“It didn’t come up a lot. Plus dating within the pack felt...complicated.”

Stiles pulled back to meet Derek’s eye, “You’re thinking you want to date?”

“Well...if you’re willing,” he reaches up and runs a hand through Stiles hair, noticing how course it actually feels under his fingers, “I don’t think it’s a secret that I like you.”

Stiles beams down at him and then they’re kissing again, hands wandering across bare skin, and he tugs Stiles’ shirt up and over his head.

He’s surprised to find a long line of muscle there, where Stiles is tensing his chest and shoulders as he holds himself up, although maybe he shouldn’t be. You don’t stay skinny when being able to run and fight are a part of your daily life. Still, though, he’d gotten an image of Stiles in his head years ago of a lean, slip of a kid, all hands and feet, and there’s no trace of it left in the man sitting on top of him.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” Stiles says, a laugh in his voice.

“I’m sorry, are you someone’s dad?” Derek scoffs, but he slides his hands around and up Stiles’ back until he can brace himself and then rolls his hips upward, into the space between Stiles’ legs.

“Nope,” Stiles’ laugh comes out breathier this time, “Had a few close calls, though.”

Derek looks up at Stiles’ face, eyes wide, and finds a mixed expression looking back at him.

“They don’t exactly keep a condom bowl in the activity room of Eichen and I was in a weird place emotionally. Y’know, hence being in Eichen House.”

Something about the story makes Derek hurt in his chest. He knows those kind of hookups, where you desperately cling to someone in a similarly shitty situation in the hope that you can save one another. Hookups that are life affirming and hollow at once, very little to do with your partner at all. He’s had quite a few of them.

“Well, I do have condoms, if you want them. And I can’t get pregnant, so…”

Stiles chuckles, and the bubble of tension pops, and he leans down to capture Derek’s lips in a kiss.

Stiles grabs Derek’s wrists and pins them to the bed above them, moving down to suck a bruise into his throat. He gasps and grinds up, eyes screwed shut against the sensation. Stiles squeezes his hands once, telling him without words to stay, and then moves down his body, kissing and licking against his ribs as he goes. Finally, he settles in the cradle of his hips, hands slotted into the crook of each hip, and he mouths at the base of Derek’s cock.

“So here’s how it’s going to go,” he says, almost conversational despite how hard he’s breathing, “You’re going to keep your hands right there, and you’re not going to move. No thrusting up, no writhing around, no nothing. I’m going to blow you, and then you’re going to swallow it.”

Derek whimpers, and sparks dance in his belly.

“Does that sound like a plan?” he asks, and before Derek can nod in assent he reaches down and under Derek’s legs and hefts them up, splaying him open as wide as he can physically go. He felt exposed, like a specimen, and he fights to keep still under Stiles’ appraising gaze.

Stiles glances up, searching for something in his face, and then he dives down and swallows Derek to the root.

He shouts and his neck bows up before he remembers himself and stays on the pillow.

“Fuck!”

He starts to move, bobbing up and down, slowing every three or four strokes to suck harshly on the tip and then sinking down again. His hands stay on the back of Derek’s thighs, fingers digging into the flesh there and making the skin underneath bloom red. Derek pants against his arm, every muscle in his body strung tight. He knows he must be bright red, as hot as he’s feeling, but he can’t bring himself to care.

“Please, please, please.”

Stiles pulls off and replaces his mouth with his hand.

“Please, what?”

“Please, just...faster!”

“Hmm,” Stiles hums, and shifts up until he can reach Derek’s nipples. He sucks one into his mouth and worries at it with his teeth until Derek’s shaking, his hand never stopping. When he pulls away his voice is low and hoarse, “I don’t think I will go faster. I think you’re going to cum exactly when I want you to. Isn’t that right, little slut?”

That last word is all he needs to tip over the edge, shuddering against Stiles and spilling into his hand. When the last wave of his orgasm passes through him and he drops back onto the pillow, Stiles is staring at him in something like awe.

“Holy shit,” he says, “I was kind of torn on using the dirty talk, but that seemed like a resounding yes.”

Derek chuckles and tugs Stiles up, settling them side by side.

“Sorry I couldn’t do what you told me to,” he says finally.

Stiles rolls his eyes, “ Dude, sex talk is non binding. I’m not going to break out the studded paddle just because you enjoyed yourself.”

Derek blushes, a little, and stares down at his hands where they’re making idle patterns in the cum cooling on his skin.

“You could. You know, if you want to. Later.”

Stiles hums, and nuzzles into Derek’s neck, “You are nothing like I thought you’d be in bed. Good thing, though, and I can’t wait to have an actual talk about limits and stuff. For now, though, once you’ve caught your breath…”

He teases a hand along Derek’s collarbone, up his neck, and then along his jaw.

“It’s my turn to get off and I’d like to sit on that beautiful face.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is based off a prompt I saw on tumblr and then totally failed to save, so whoever wrote about a character reading explicit fanfiction in public and having to keep a straight face, thank you!
> 
> Also, I saw it was zwatchtowerz's birthday on tumblr, and this was sitting in my drafts all sad and incomplete so I buckled down and finished it today. Yay!
> 
> I am incredibly bad at writing sex. Possibly because I don't have a dick, and have no idea what it's like to have a dick. Unbeta'ed.


End file.
